


Middle of Nowhere (so why does everything happen here)

by RobinsonsWereHere



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Psych, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Wild West, F/M, Inspired By Tumblr, Shules, Wild West AU, clairedevil, haven't seen defenders, i've only seen like a season and a half of psych but i love them ALL, update I'm halfway thru Psych season 3 and almost done with Defenders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: Matt Murdock needs to stop running and fight for what he loves.Claire Temple needs to decide how okay with all this vigilante shit she is before it's too late to back out.Jessica Jones needs to stop holding people at arms length. Just because most don't care doesn't mean nobody does.Danny Rand needs to beat The Hand before they destroy everything he cares about and more. He can't afford to mess up again.Colleen Wing needs to figure out what she wants and what she's been told to want. Preferably before getting murdered by ninjas.Luke Cage needs an escape from his twisted family and the crime-ridden streets of Harlem.Carlton Lassiter needs to keep his town safe, and maybe realize he's not the only one who can do it.Juliet O'Hara needs to bring justice to her world. Those who would oppose her do not realize how hot the fire inside her burns.Shawn Spencer needs to tell the truth. He's never been good at that, but it matters now more than ever.Burton Guster needs spiritual and practical wisdom if they're all going to get through this.Four crime solvers. Six fugitives. A cult.New Sonora won't know what hit it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Prosperity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15567459) by [FeralPen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralPen/pseuds/FeralPen). 



> If y'all are on Tumblr, go follow @ psychaesthetics and check out all of their aesthetics, especially the wild west one that inspired this.

Gus is walking through the small town as dusk falls one night. He is the only one visible on the street at this time of night. The other inhabitants of their small town are either at the bar or the diner or home for the night. Gus just likes the cool breeze against his skin as he waits patiently for darkness to come and for the stars to fill the sky.

 

Jessica just happens to be at the front of their small, intrepid band as the six of them approach the small town. She breathes a sigh of relief. When they’d gotten instructions from the driver of the rusty pickup they’d ridden until it broke down a few miles ago, she hadn’t been sure they’d find the place before nightfall. As a breeze blows around them, Jess pulls her worn leather jacket around her and thinks for the thousandth time that she should really get some jeans that aren’t torn to shreds.

 

Gus notices the strangers after they’ve noticed him. “Can I help you folks?” He asks, looking curiously at the glowering, dark-haired woman in front. Half of them speak at once.

 

“Where can I get a drink around here?” Snaps the woman, brusque but not quite rude.

 

“Who would we see if we needed to solve a crime?” Asks the tall, muscular man with the deep, gravelly voice.

 

“Is there a preacher in this town?” The man with the cane asks in a voice so quiet his words might’ve been a whisper on the wind.

 

Gus half-smiles and beckons them to follow him. “I am the preacher,” he says to the blind man. “A friend of mine can help you if you’re in trouble. He’s a gambler, he’ll be at the bar this time of night. He’s nice, though.” This gets grunts and hmms and a muttered comment about whiskey from the group behind him. “And if you’ve really got a crime, just stick around the bar. The sheriff’s station closes up around now, and Deputy O’Hara is sweet on our resident grifter. Don’t tell her I said that.”

 

Matt assumes the grifter and the gambling friend are the same person. He’s not really sure what to think about this town, this place where the wind blows smooth and cold and the smell of horses mixes with the oily stench of motorcycles. “Well, if the deputy is willing to go there, this bar can’t be all bad,” he offers as Gus pushes open a door to the sound of a creaking hinge and a room full of laughing people. The preacher smiles; Matt can hear the muscles shifting. “Shawn’s nicer than he seems.”

 

Shawn looks up from his drink and his cards as the door opens. He hopes it’s something interesting; not even two beers in and he’s about to clean this guy out of half of his wallet. He’s not even playing dirty, the man just truly sucks at poker.To his delight Gus steps through. Gus and a bunch of strangers. Shawn downs his drink and calls the hand, barely even bothering to check that he’s won as he sweeps the cash towards himself. His opponent leaves with barely a grumble. “Gus! Over here!” Shawn calls, waving to his friend. “Who are the new folks? What’s our town preacher doing in a low-life establishment like this?”

 

Gus grins at him. “They need to solve a crime, Shawn, and I’m not about to try to talk to Lassiter right before closing time. I thought you might help.”

 

“Excellent,” Shawn replies. “What’re their names?”

 

Claire pulls Jessica back from the bar, steps in front of Luke, and squeezes Matt’s hand. She can already hear him whispering a prayer, she needs to take control before things get out of hand. "I'm Claire Temple," she says, keeping her voice smooth and her tone level and still holding Matt's hand, even as she offers her other for a handshake. "This is Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, Danny Rand, and Colleen Wing." The five of them wave or nod or mutter a greeting as she mentions them. "So, can you help us or not?"

 

Gus takes a sip of his water as he looks around the table. Other than these new strangers, the bar is just as it always is. Card games go on at the tables around the edge of the room, groups of patrons chat and drink at the bar or at the round tables that make up the majority of the space, and a few familiar faces (who's not familiar, in this town of 300 or so) at the pool table a few feet away. It is, undeniably, a saloon, with the hanging golden lights and the wood paneling that makes it feel a lot older than 2018.

Then again, the whole town feels a lot older than 2018.

 

Luke takes a sip of beer and looks Shawn in the eye. He was raised well, born a preacher's boy in New York City, before he got sick of his father's lies and lovers, before his half-brother tried to get him to fight, to show the anger all of the other men in his family had, before Luke refused to do so and ran west until he found a place where his name wasn't known and the people didn't judge and the cars needed fixing. Luke was raised to do what was right and do what was good and yet somehow, he's sitting here looking a con man so good at his job that he's not afraid who knows it, he's sitting here on a desperate hunt to stop a cult that would imprison all of humanity if it would give them enough blood to do whatever rituals send screams through the desert at night, he's sitting here after having uprooted his life a second time, in a second small, desert town where everybody knows everybody's name but nobody knows his. He sighs, drinks, and goes back to staring at The Grifter. Shawn Spencer cocks his head. "I can't help you if I don't know what you need help with," he prompts.

 

Juliet O'Hara looks around the bar with a smile on her face, satisfied with a good day's work and ready to relax with a glass of whiskey and the company of friends. She waves to Buzz, the bartender, who is already pouring her whiskey.

"Good day at work?" He asks, handing her the glass. 

"Uh huh," Juliet responds, taking a sip as she leans against the bar. She won't sit, no, she'll spend the night over at Shawn's table, maybe lose a few dollars in poker if she feels like indulging him, making him laugh and trying not to blush at his smirks and reminding herself that she shouldn't care about the shadows that lurk deep in his gaze, she shouldn't ask those questions, the answers will only hurt. For right now, though, she's more than happy to make small talk with Buzz. "Carlton and I finally tracked down the guy who took his kid and left his wife with no money remember, the messy divorce?" Buzz nods- she's been updating him, or more ranting, really, for almost two weeks. "Asshole thought a shabby lookin' town would have a shabby police force. His wife's got her daughter back, and at least some of the money." She grins, her near-perpetual cheerfulness bolstered by success and justice.

As she stands to leave, Buzz starts to speak. "Hey, Spencer's got a few strangers over at his table tonight," He warns. "Gus brought 'em in here, though, so they can't be all bad." Juliet makes a noise of acknowledgement and heads toward the table, already sizing up what she'd previously assumed to be a poker group. It looked like her night had just gotten a little more interesting.

 

Danny pauses in correcting Claire's version of events (the word she's looking for is heroic, not stupid) as an attractive blonde walks up to the table. She smiles at Shawn Spencer and he smirks back as she takes a seat, no words said, no questions asked. Danny remembers what the preacher (had Danny heard him called Gus?) had said as he'd led them to the bar. He's got a strong suspicion that this is Deputy O'Hara.

"Hi," he offers. "I'm Danny."

"Juliet O'Hara," she responds, offering a hand. "I'm the Deputy Sheriff around here."

"She's much more pleasant to be around than the Head Sheriff," inputs Shawn. "Especially before he's had coffee."

"So, what brings you to our little patch of dust?" Inquires Juliet. "Just passing through?"

"Well, we're trying to solve a murder. Or stop a murder. Or catch a murderer. Honestly, any of those work," Luke explains with a sigh. O'Hara raises an eyebrow and leans forward, elbows on the table. 

"And you think whoever it is might've come through here?"

Matt gives his two cents, in the same way they've been explaining to Shawn and Gus, bouncing between Danny with his knowledge of the organization and Matt with his firsthand experience with the victims and Colleen and Claire, who will butt in to rephrase or correct a statement. "We've followed The Hand since they showed up in our town, Prosperity," he begins. "We tried to spy on them quietly and maybe even subtly stop their evil acts before they could really put down roots, but we got too loud. We were ready to attack them, but they left overnight. By the time we realized we'd messed up, it was too late to undo what we'd done. We had to leave our friends, the people we care about, all because these servants of darkness have zero regard for a human life. They would have wiped out our entire town, or worse, Elektra-"

At this point it almost sounds like he's choked. matt shakes his head and does not finish his thought.

Gus looks at the newcomers, in various stages of slumping over glasses of beer or whiskey or water, near-collapse from distress or nerves or physical exhaustion. He looks at Shawn who has a faraway look in his eyes, and Juliet, who is similarly scowling at nothing as she drinks her whiskey, already working the case in her head. It is not yet ten o'clock, but Gus has a feeling none of them will get much sleep over the next few days. "I think we get the picture," he decides. "We'll show you the motel, I'm sure you're all exhausted. Another glance around the table gets a murmur of assent from Shawn, and Juliet stands to follow them out. 

"Crime fighting can at least wait until the station opens tomorrow," she says decisively.


	2. Nowhere to go but onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter finally gets pulled into the mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strategizing time!

Carlton Lassiter wakes to pale sunlight through his windows and staticky music from his alarm clock, which was about the nicest way he ever got up. It didn’t mean he liked it, though. Groaning, the sheriff pulls himself from the semi-soft sheets and the mattress that was actually fairly comfortable. He finds a clean shirt that he’d bleached the week before and grabs his jeans from where they’d been slung over that back of a desk chair. In no time at all, he’s sipping his coffee and walking towards the station, in as content a mood as was possible for the sheriff of New Sonora.  


Sheriff Lassiter blinks as he steps into the office portion of his police station. Sitting around the round wooden table is Deputy O’Hara (not unusual, though he often made it to work before her), Shawn Spencer (not nearly as unusual as he would like), and Burton Guster. It seemed like Guster and Spencer were a package duo, which was just disappointing. Lassiter likes the preacher, who knows when to offer advice or a bit of scripture and when to shut up. Spencer knew none of those things. No, this morning the strangest part of the scene was the six extra people that Lassiter was quite certain he’d never seen in his life. Quite a few questions came to mind, ranging from ‘Spencer what are you doing in my office’ to who the hell are these folks’ and several in between. But all of those were too many words for only one cup of coffee into his day. Instead, Lassiter looks his deputy in the eye and asks, “what the hell?”  
O’Hara gestures towards the large hunk of fried dough dusted with cinnamon sugar that sat on a plate in the center of the table. It was a specialty at the bakery, and from the smell, it was fresh from this morning. “We saved you some,” the blonde offers. Carlton sighs and tears off a piece.  


“Thank you,” he grunts. He rarely says that to anyone, but he’s in a better mood than usual and O’Hara is legitimately the nicest person he has ever met, so it won’t hurt him to use manners. “What’s going on?”  


He should have directed his question better; Spencer jumps in with the answer. “Well, Lassie, last night Gus brought these folks into my end of the bar saying they needed to solve a crime. Apparently, the new thing is for cults to name themselves after singular appendages and hide out in the desert until they’ve wiped out the entire population of a town. We’ve agreed to help them out- “  


“We haven’t agreed to anything yet,” interrupts Juliet, giving Lassiter a hear-us-out look, “But we… we probably need to take this case.”  


Lassiter nods once. “Alright,” he begins, “O’Hara is the only one talking. If she needs help on the details, whichever one of you” - he gestures to the group whose names he still does not know – “knows the most can help her out.”  
Matt points at Danny. Danny points at Matt. “Claire can do it,” Jessica decides. Claire nods.

An hour later, Lassiter has consumed two more cups of coffee and a dose of Advil to combat the headache he can feel building gin his skull. “So, do we have any idea where these….”  


“Vampire-ninjas” Shawn supplies from behind him.  


“Cultists might be?” Lassiter finishes, ignoring the con man.  


“Well, not at the moment, but you’ve only got the one motel in town, yes?” Asks Matthew Murdock, looking, well, not looking at Lassiter, but at least turning towards him. The sunglasses are ridiculous.  


“Yes, the one you’re staying in,” the sheriff confirms.  


“Perhaps a look at the guest log might give us a clue as to how long ago they left, and how far they could be.”  


“Or if they even came here,” adds Jessica, staring at the ceiling as she slowly spins her rickety office chair in a circle.  


At first, Lassiter is inclined to agree with her- he would have noticed a cult swooping through his town. Then he thinks about Rand’s explanation of The Hand’s MO. He and O’Hara had spent the past week and a half tracking down the disappearing husband, and if the only evidence of The Hand moving through was a few members stopping in town to gather supplies, they might have missed them. “O’Hara,” he instructs, “Head down to the motel and get a hold of that guest list. There’s no reason for them not to give it to you, but- “he breaks off as he realizes he is not being listened to. Turning around, he sighs at the image he is met with. O’Hara is wearing Spencer’s cowboy hat and it looks as though he would like it back, judging by the way he’s stretching out of his chair and across Gus to reach her. The Deputy Sheriff of New Sonora is laughing as she kicks off the table (why did their office chairs have wheels) and rolls backwards until she is stopped by the filing cabinet with a clang. Shawn and Juliet look up at him as they realize they’ve been caught. Lassiter sighs again. All professionals here on the new Sonora police force, people.  


“It looks better on her,” he informs Spencer. 

New Sonora is a strange mix of new and old. Well, it’s mostly old. The town is small enough that many simply walk from place to place, but horses are popular as well, due to the fact that many people already own them. Others ride motorcycles, including O’Hara and Lassiter (faster than horses and more practical for long distance) and Shawn. It’s part of his ‘mysterious grifter’ identity. He rode into their lives on it one day and hasn’t left or obtained another vehicle. They make an odd pair, Juliet on her horse and Shawn on his bike. Shawn keeps looking over his shoulder, and every time he does she yells that she and Duchess can keep up and if he doesn’t keep his eyes on the road he’s going to wreck. Finally, he speeds up, and she chases him the rest of the way to the motel, both laughing and Juliet still wearing his hat. As she dismounts, Shawn throws her one of his sexy smirks. No, they’re not sexy. She doesn’t think that. Absolutely not.  
“Lassiter was right,” he tells her. “That hat does look better on you.”  


Juliet scoffs and tries not to blush as she steps into the motel. 

Lassiter is starting a case file for “The Hand” when O’Hara and Spencer return. The position of Head Sheriff earns him his own office, so for a bit he simply watches the scene in front of him. His deputy and the con man return, her still wearing his hat. Guster is reading from a Bible, with Murdock stopping him every so often to pose a question or offer his own thought. Jones and Wing are arguing over… fighting techniques, from what he can tell. Cage and Temple are deep in conversation with Rand, the only people other than him to actually work on the case. Lassiter looks again at the synopsis he’s trying to create, which is an official document, yes, but is also him trying to organize the facts on paper in the hopes that it will organize his thoughts as well. Taking another sip of coffee, the sheriff enters the main room. “O’Hara, Spencer, find anything?”  


“Well, three men and a woman stayed here five nights ago, which is not suspicious at all but it is the only plausible option if we consider the timeline,” O’Hara says, speaking fast as she leans on the table, clearly deep in thought.  
Spencer drops a copy of the guest list on the table. Luckily, the copy machine in the motel office is well maintained, so the log is clearly legible. “I say we track ‘em.”  


Before Lassiter can even open his mouth, O’Hara shoots down the idea. “No, weather will have cleared the tracks by now. Nothing to track them by.”  


“No way they came all the way out here just to turn back,” interjects Luke.  


Colleen nods. “They’re after something, and if they couldn’t get it from Prosperity, they won’t waste time finding somewhere else.”  


Matt realizes what his friends are getting at. “The road only goes one direction out,” he says.  


“Out of the town, maybe, but if this cult is as dangerous as you say they are, they’re not just gonna go in a straight line,” Lassiter points out. “None of you have ever spent a solid week chasing a suspect through the wild desert. It’s not fun.”  


Remembering that particular experience, O’Hara makes a face. “It’s really, really not.”  


“Hey, at least let us check it out,” argues Shawn. “It’s a place to start. Gus and I can head out on the road and see if we find anything to point us in the right direction. We’d be back before sunset, easily.”  


“Shawn,” protests Gus, in the voice he uses every time Spencer volunteers them for a wild goose chase. It happens a lot.  
Lassiter and O’Hara exchange glances. “What harm can they do?”  


“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he answers.  


Colleen stands. “I can go with them,” she says. “We’ll go out on horseback in a few hours. If we went out now, we’d deserve to die of heatstroke.”  


“Oh yeah, didn’t think of that,” concedes Shawn.  


“Let’s check the library,” Gus suggests. At the confused looks from the surrounding company, he elaborates. “Look, there have been devil-worshippers throughout history. People who are so intoxicated by darkness they can no longer see the light. If this group is as ancient as you say they are,” – this with a pointed look at Rand – “They’ll show up somewhere. Logically, they have to.”

With murmurs of assent, the sheriff, his deputy, the grifter, the preacher, and Prosperity’s six defenders stand and stretch out their limbs. Lassiter moves towards the door, waving a beckoning hand over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to psychaesthetics for giving me the town name! I love comments- tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, anything. Hope y'all are having a great day!


	3. Dusty roads and Smart-ass Banter (how were we supposed to know someone was dead)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn cannot ride a horse. Colleen wonders where she went wrong in her life choices. We are reminded that Gus cares deeply for every life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seen Psych through 2x11 now and I'm still not over the Close Talking at the end of 2x09

By five pm, Colleen, Shawn, and Gus have bags packed with sandwiches, water canteens, and walkie talkies and are just about ready to begin their search. It had been easy enough to acquire horses for Colleen and Shawn, and Gus already had a pony who he insisted would keep up just as well. Having seen Blanche in action before, Shawn forcefully supported his best friend. So, they had food, water, and emergency supplies. They had transportation and the beginnings of a plan. There was only one problem: for the life of him, Shawn could not get on his horse.

“How have you never ridden a horse before, Shawn?” Gus demands incredulously.

“I have!” Shawn defends himself. “I just- oomph!” Once again, the con man is lying flat on his back.

“Somebody get me a camera,” deadpans an increasingly irritated Lassiter.

“I know you’ve ridden at least once,” continues Gus, making no move to help Shawn off the ground. “There was that case with the crazed gunman who hid in the cave, and you decided for whatever reason that you should sneak up there in the dead of the night- “

“We don’t talk about that!” exclaims Shawn, having righted himself.

“Why, because the wacko nearly put a bullet in your ass, or because I swooped in and rescued you and you had to ride the whole way back with your arms around me trying not to fall off?” Asks Juliet, offering a bucket for Shawn to stand on.

“Your tone implies I should be embarrassed, but any day I get to put my arms around you is a good day, Deputy O’Hara,” replies Shawn, giving her a smirk as he tips his cowboy hat. “Now, it appears I have managed to mount this fine beast. Shall we be off?” He asks his companions, dutifully pretending that the bucket he’d nearly fallen off whilst trying not to fall off the horse doesn’t exist.

“Just as long as you’re not planning on staying all posh the whole time,” warns Gus. “Cause if you are, I’m staying here.”

Colleen has already swung her horse around and is clearly impatient to begin their search. “We’re wasting daylight, boys,” she chides. Still bickering, Shawn and Gus wave to the surrounding company and follow her. 

“We’ll try not to die!” Shawn yells over his shoulder.

“They say that, but from the sound of these cult people, it could actually happen, if they do find them,” mutters Lassiter.

“And it would not be a happy occurrence,” Juliet reminds her partner, giving him a stern look and an elbow to the ribs.

“I am your boss, O’Hara,” he whines, rubbing his chest. She bumps her shoulder into his.

“What are you going to do, replace me?” 

 

The desert is beautiful. Most people look at it and see only sand and rocks and the heat of the sun. At first glance, it’s just a bleak wasteland with the occasionally cactus. The in-between of a long journey. When you’ve learned what Colleen has, however, you learn to look deeper. The Sonoran Desert is a place where the sand is so many shades of red and yellow and tan, and the sky is blue like the wings of a bluebird as afternoon darkens to evening. As she scans the area for any sign that a large group has passed through, Colleen inhales deeply. The air here smells like horses and dirt, but it’s so much fresher than the oppressive smog of the city. The sun on her shoulders instead of being wrapped in a coat against the cold. Soft leather in her hands instead of clutching a cell phone and a purse as she hails a cab. In under two weeks, she’d gone from near-constant stress and trying not to catch the attention of the less-savory people at Rand Enterprises to The Hand slipping through her fingers in Prosperity and now, now she’s riding a horse through the desert with a Preacher who quotes science as often as he does scripture and a Grifter who doesn’t run from the cops, he helps them. She laughs aloud at the absurdity of it all. Shawn looks over at her, an eyebrow raised and a teasing smile on his lips. “Something on your mind?”

Colleen hesitates, still not sure what she thinks of the man. “… Let’s just say my life is usually not this interesting.”

“Well, I’m glad we could spice it up for ya,” he quips, smirking. “What do you think of New Sonora so far?”

“I think it’s tamer than the last little town we stayed in,” Colleen responds, carefully phrasing her answer.

“Well, until yesterday, we didn’t have any vigilantes or vampires, so I’d probably have to give you that one,” Shawn concedes.

“I don’t know, Shawn, I wouldn’t really use ‘tame’ to describe any town with you in it,” argues Gus. 

“Oh, does New Sonora have a brothel-nightclub run by a murderous European woman?” Asks Colleen, who fully intends to win this town-measuring contest.

“Wow, okay, no,” Gus says, eyes wide. Shawn gives a whistle.

“Murderous European women are the best European women.”

“Shawn, this explains both why you’re still single and why you have as many near-death experiences as you do,” Gus sighs. “You have no sense of self preservation. Or common sense.”

“You are so right, Gus. Why do you even hang out with me?” Shawn replies, faux-genuine.

“I ask myself that every day, Shawn. Every single day.”

“Guys,” Interrupts Colleen. “Look.” She gestures to an area off the road that has obviously been traveled on recently. There’s a clear path of hoofprints and a few shrubs have been crushed.

“Well, it looks like we’ve found what we came looking for,” murmurs Shawn. “What do we do now?”

“The smart thing to do would be to at least radio Sheriff Lassiter,” Gus suggests.

“I completely agree,” responds Shawn, already following the path. 

Colleen beckons Gus forward. “I’ll bring up the rear,” she explains, twisting to look over her shoulder. Her hand brushes over a handle to something at her waste that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Is that a knife?” Gus demands incredulously, not pleased with Shawn’s ‘go forward, tell no one where we are, and hope we don’t get killed’ plan.

“Of course not,” scoffs Colleen. “It’s nunchakus.”

Shawn has a certain expression that he gets, a furrowing of the eyebrows and a slight frown on his lips if a turn of events displeases him. He’ll stand and look at whatever it is, just stare with the same expression on his face, and be completely silent until he figures it out. It’s rarely more than a brief respite; the con man can figure things out very quickly.

Gus looks from his best friend to the misshapen pile of flesh that lies in a pool of blood on the ground. He decides he’d rather look at Shawn. Colleen, who may be new here but has interacted with enough people to know when to stay quiet and let a person think, says nothing as she scans the area, absentmindedly swinging a nunchaku. 

Finally, Shawn speaks. “Alright Gus,” he announces. “I think it’s time I called in Lassie and Jules.”

Gus gives a nod. “You do that. Miss Wing, you seem like you’d like to take a look around. If the two of you don’t mind, I’d like to… I’d like to try to lay this poor soul to rest.” Colleen gives an ‘mmmn’ and quickly heads further in the direction opposite the road.  
Trusting her not to get lost, Shawn places a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll solve this one, Gus,” he promises. “Just like we have all the others.”

Gus is already pulling out a small Bible as he gives Shawn a sad look. “I think it’s a little early to say that, Shawn” he responds. “You should radio in.”

 

By the time the police force of New Sonora arrives and processes the scene, it’s too dark to do anything more. Really, if they don’t head back soon, the whole group of Colleen, Shawn, Gus, Lassiter, Juliet, and Luke risk having to ride through the dark. The detectives, at least, had come on motorcycles, but even so, there’s really no other option. Shawn sighs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair. Juliet glares at the crime scene, hands on her hips. 

“We’ll come back first thing tomorrow,” she decides, turning away. “We can’t get anything else done tonight.” Lassiter curses the fading light as his partner walks towards her horse. 

Accepting that the blonde is right, Colleen mounts her own, albeit borrowed, gelding. “Did Jones get pictures of you trying to ride a horse, Cage?” she quips, smirking at the larger man.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve had no difficulties at all,” retorts Luke, proving his statement by swinging himself into the saddle with ease. Shawn, who has just managed to get on a saddle himself with the help of a log, pouts.

“That is so not fair.”

O’Hara and Lassiter leave first, roaring away on their bikes and leaving only twin plumes of dust in their wake. Luke, Shawn, Gus, and Colleen follow soon, but it is dark, and they are tired and not one of them is a cop. So really, they cannot be blamed for missing the figure in the trees. It is not their fault that they do not see the eyes that watch them go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic/ominous music plays*


	4. Mediocre Ninjas and Shirtless Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn, Gus, and Colleen's expedition didn't go unnoticed. So naturally, the only solution for the Hand now is to kill someone. It's basic logic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to update! If it's any consolation, this chapter is 2100 words. I was gonna make it include more but then I looked at the word count and went 'u kidding me I'm not making these people read this much of my shit at once' and ended it. Hopefully I'll get chapter 5 up soon!

The Hand did not yet have a quarrel with the town of New Sonora. They did not wish to start a war with those that might be a good supply of the warm, thick blood they needed. The Hand only wished to leave a warning. It seems logical, to a strong but insignificant and nameless knight of their order, that the target he had chosen would be easy and beneficial to their cause. Slit her throat, leave her dead in her own house. She will never even wake. Killing the Sheriff would provoke some to avenge him, but the deputy would be both an easy kill and a clear warning.

Unfortunately for the knight, Juliet O’Hara was a light sleeper.

Admittedly, waking with a knife to her throat is extremely disconcerting. As she realizes what’s happening, though, Juliet reacts accordingly. She knows her assailant will draw the blade across her throat the second she reaches toward her nightstand for her gun. And assuming he’d come to kill her, and not just crouch over her theatrically, she only has a small window to act. Those facts in mind, Juliet draws her knees up sharply into the person’s abdomen, then grabs the wrist holding the blade and squeezes. The weapon clatters to the floor as its wielder attempts to fight back. She slams him hard against the wall, managing to grab her handcuffs off her desk, and drops the struggling and cuffed figure onto the floor. A jab to a pressure point on the neck quickly renders the attacker unconscious, for good measure. Taking a shaky inhale, Juliet grabs the phone and begins to dial.

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Lassiter squints at the clock on his nightstand as he fumbles for the ringing phone. 2:13am. This won’t be good. “Sheriff Lassiter,” he answers, already sitting up.

“Lassiter, It’s O’Hara. I think- “ The way her breath shudders as she pauses worries him. He can’t tell if she’s trying not to cry or trying not to panic or both. “– I think we’ve got a development in the cult case.” He hears her take several deep breaths.

“What?” He asks, his brain still muddled with sleep. “O’Hara, are you alright? What’s going on?”

“Someone tried to kill me,” she tells him, her voice steadier now. He can hear rustling on the other end of the line, a dragging sound as if she’s moving something, or someone, heavy and uncooperative. “It’s a man, all black clothing, had a long, sharp knife. Not quite a sword. No identification on him.”

“What do you mean, tried to kill you? Did you knock him out? O’Hara, did you kill him?!?” The sheriff really isn’t sure where this sudden worry about his partner is coming from, but he’s just about pacing the room as he grabs his badge, gun, and jacket. “Y’know what, don’t answer that. Hang on. I’ll be right there.”

“Alright. Carlton?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m okay. Don’t panic.”

He’s almost caught off guard by the statement. He supposes this is what it means to have a friendship with someone. “Don’t you panic either,” he responds. She assures him she won’t, and he hangs up, climbing onto his bike and quickly cruising down the dark and deserted road.

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As she hangs up the phone, Juliet gets a sudden urge to call Shawn as well. She pushes the thought away with a frown, forcing herself to drop the handset on the bed. There’s no reason to get him up at this time of night. Instead, she quickly changes into jeans and a t-shirt. If she’s going to start crime-solving this early in the morning, she may as well look the part. There’s a loud knocking on the door just as she shrugs on her leather jacket and holsters her gun. After checking that yes, it is Lassiter, and not another ninja come to kill her, she lets him in.

“For the record, I didn’t kill him, and I’m slightly offended that you would think that,” she starts as he enters her house.

“I saw what you did to that one guy we arrested for stalking his ex. Everyone who was in the bar that night is slightly afraid of you,” he retorts.

“It looks like he got in through the window, which is half embarrassing and half weird, it locks from the inside and I replaced the locks when I got the place, they’re not crappy like the original ones,” Juliet begins, turning towards her bedroom, the unconscious ninja, and the indeed open window.

Lassiter scrutinizes the window but looks around the rest of the room as well. It’s neat and uncluttered, with a desk opposite the bed, a nightstand on the left side of the bed, a small closet in the wall near the desk, and a large sliding door out to a covered, sort of porch-looking area. There are books on the desk as well as a scribbled-on legal pad and a camera, and a lamp on the bedside table, with a retro-style poster reading “MIAMI” in blocky teal letters tacked to the wall. A smile twitches across the sheriff’s face. The room is somehow near-barren in its cleanliness but also unmistakably Juliet O’Hara’s.  
“Why the window?” He asks. “You’ve got a huge sliding door right there. Why go to the trouble of climbing over the desk?”

O’Hara wrinkles her nose. “That’s a good question,” she replies. Walking towards the desk, she tilts her head and peers out the window. “There’s a tree there,” she muses cryptically, then turns on her heel, tugs open the sliding door, and marches towards the… well, it’s more of an over-glorified bush. Lassiter follows her, craning his neck to investigate the leaves, rather confused as to the point his partner is trying to make. As he tilts his head this way and that, she nudges him and points a handy penlight at small disruptions in the dirt by the base of the tree. “Cover,” she says, her blue-eyed scowl fixating on the rusty orange dust as she works the problem in her head. “Coming through the door, he’d have to deal with sandy sliders and leaving footprints. The window cuts out all that and minimizes the chance of being seen.”

Lassiter nods, walking carefully past the tree in the hopes of spotting more prints. “You think we can track him back to wherever he came from?” He asks.

Juliet beams the flashlight slightly ahead of him. “We can damn well try,” she replies.

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Two hours, a dead end, and a disappointing amount of dust later, Juliet and Carlton are in his office, the latter sitting on his desk running a hand through his hair as the former walks in with two cups of coffee. “I just bleached this shirt,” groans Lassiter, taking the mug that reads, ‘shoot first, drink coffee later’. Juliet laughs as she sips from hers. “What?” He asks, failing to see anything funny about the situation.

“Your priorities,” she responds, smiling, laughter in her eyes. Remembering the wild, almost panicking fear that had filled them a few hours ago, Lassiter finds he doesn’t mind being laughed at. 

“Yeah, well, the woman who runs the laundromat decided last week that I have the Devil in me, or something, damn if I even know half of the crazy shit these people believe, and now she won’t so much as look at me when I walk in. It’s irritating and unhelpful, especially considering the number of times I need someone to fix those old machines.” Juliet is outright laughing now, and, much to his chagrin, Lassiter realizes he’s started to smile. “Yeah, ha ha,” he grumbles. “Do you think our visitor has woken up yet?”  
Juliet sobers, about to suggest they check, when the long-distance police scanner crackles to life. 

“This is Sherriff Knight of the Prosperity PD, New Sonora, please respond,” comes a female voice Juliet doesn’t recognize.

“This is Sherriff Lassiter, Knight, from what I remember of our last encounter, I really thought you’d be too impulsive to land a promotion,” Carlton snarks, rolling his chair over to the handset.

“Maybe I’m still a deputy, maybe I’m not,” Shoots back Deputy Knight, sounding impatient and cagey. “Do I have to be a Sherriff to get you to apprehend a couple ‘o fugitives for me?”

“No. What do you mean, fugitives?” Responds Lassiter. 

“Less fugitives… more like… missing persons,” admits the woman. Juliet frowns. Something is off here.

“Are they under arrest or not?” Snaps her partner.

“No. But they’re Persons of Interest in the deadliest case I’ve seen in a long time,” comes the reply. “Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Matt Murdock, Danny Rand, Claire Temple, and Colleen Wing.”

Lassiter and O’Hara exchange glances.

“I’ll have to check at the motel,” the sheriff returns carefully. “I haven’t noticed anyone, but they may just be keeping a low profile. I’ll let you know.” With that he stands, hanging up the handset and turning to face his deputy. “I’ll see if your window ninja has woken up. Go find them, now. They’re gonna tell us why the Prosperity department is looking for them or we’re going to hand them over.”

Juliet nods and does not protest his insistence on dealing with her attacker as she heads out the door. It takes her maybe fifteen minutes to reach the motel walking; while there’s a voice in the back of her head urging her to get on your bike go move move move, she knows that any form of transportation will be impractical on the return trip as all six of Prosperity’s Most Wanted are on foot. Plus, she feels the walk will do her some good. It’s hard to be scared or anxious or mad when you’ve got early morning light on your face and a multicolored sunrise over your head. She’s just nearing the building when she hears shouting from a bit away. Her first thought is to let whoever it is have it out- she’s too busy to waste time intervening in trivial arguments. Even as she thinks that, Juliet hears a familiar voice rise out of the chaos.

“I can assure you, I had no idea she was married! She insisted her divorce had just happened and her ex-” Shawn is saying, standing shirtless in the doorway to his motel room, evidently caught in an argument between a not-so-happily-married couple.

“Louis, I swear, I never wanted to be unfaithful! This man, he forced me to- he, he,” the woman is going through a lot of loud theatrics in an unconvincing performance. Juliet can spot the tell-tale tan line of a recently removed wedding band. She glares and marches toward the argument. If this woman thinks she’s going to pin her infidelity on Shawn, she’s got another thing coming. 

“You bastard! What have you done to my wife?” The man is demanding, looking very lose to either strangling the woman or punching Shawn. Juliet takes what her police academy instructor would call, ‘the blunt force route’ and shoves herself in between them, pulling out her badge. 

“Deputy O’Hara, New Sonora Police!” She yells, raising her voice to cut through the ongoing argument. “I think everyone here needs to calm down and take a few steps back.”

“But I’m in such a good position,” comments Shawn, smirking at her again, goddamnit. While inserting herself into the tussle, Juliet had somehow managed to press a hand firmly into his bare chest. And she had been doing so well ignoring the sight of him until this point. She glares at him, shoves him away, and tries unsuccessfully not to blush. What she wouldn’t give to have Carlton’s sunburn right now. Instead, she turns away from Shawn and speaks to the couple, now standing silently and giving her reproachful looks. Well, the husband looks a bit like he’d like to bash her head in. But the wife is looking reproachful.

“Ma’am, I’d like you to know that while I personally could not care less who you sleep with, I will not allow you to blame your bad decisions on other members of this town. Sir, if you are involved in a ruckus like this again, I will arrest you for disturbing the peace. Also, I might suggest a marriage counselor. Have a nice day,” Juliet finishes, striding back towards the rooms the six fugitives/missing persons are staying in.

“Jules, what’s up?” calls Shawn, still standing by his motel room.

“Trying to solve a case, Shawn,” she calls over her shoulder.

“I can help with that,” he yells back. Juliet shakes her head. 

“Put a shirt on.”


	5. Jessica Has No Tact + Other Things We Already Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter wants to know if he can trust our six Defenders. Secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. Defenders is SO AMAZINGGGGGGG. Also, I've been reminded how much I love Elektra, so rest assured, she's coming in here sometime. Also, I love this story so frickin much that this chapter and the one before it were both over 2000 words when my normal goal is 1000 per chapter. Please let me know what you think! DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, and the 'punch you so hard you'll see' line was taken directly from Defenders dialogue, as many of you will no doubt recognize. Hope you like it!

Claire Temple hears fast, forceful knocking on the door to the motel room before she’s even opened her eyes. She groans and blindly manages to pull Colleen back down onto the bed. “Remember the ‘no stabbing’ rule?” She reminds her. Colleen rises again, this time, at least sticking the knife into her pajama pants instead of holding it at the ready. 

“If whoever is here wants to kill us, somebody has to be ready,” she retorts as she follows the nurse.

By this time, Claire is already through the bedroom and living area, opening the front door. I don’t think ninjas knock, Colleen.” She manages a smile at their visitor.

The smaller woman glances down at the pull-out couch, where Jessica is still fast asleep. “Some guard dog.” She and Claire startle as a loud _thump_ comes from the adjacent room. Muffled voices can be heard, but soon Luke is standing just outside the boys’ doorway, next to Claire.

“Wing, tell your boyfriend that the middle of the floor where people need to walk is not an acceptable place to sleep,” he complains.

Claire gestures for everyone to shut up. “Deputy O’Hara,” she begins, finally giving her full attention to the woman standing outside the motel, “Can we help you? Has something come up with the case?”

“You could say that,” responds Juliet. “Due to certain recent developments, I’d appreciate it if all of you would come down to the station for a bit. The sheriff and I would like to clear up some things we still don’t know about you that we maybe should’ve learned at the start of all this.”

A frown creases Luke’s brow. “This sounds like a very polite way of saying interrogation,” he ventures.

The blonde concedes this with a tilt of her head. “It doesn’t have to be polite,” she cautions, shifting her weight just enough that her set of handcuffs is clearly visible. Naturally, Jessica picks now to stumble blearily into the conversation.

“Y’know he’s bullet proof, right?” She asks. Claire sighs.

“Jessica, relax. We’re just going to discuss the case. Nobody’s getting arrested,” she soothes, trying to defuse the conversation.

“Easy for you to say, you haven’t snapped anybody’s neck,” Jess grumbles. Deputy O’Hara raises an eyebrow.

“You were cleared of all charges. Deputy O’Hara is not arresting us. We’ll go with her and if it turns out bad, we can leave at any time. That’s how this kind of thing works,” placates Matt, appearing behind Luke. He turns his attention to Juliet. “We’re coming. All of us are eager to help fix this in any way we can. Give us five minutes to get dressed.” He tilts his head, considering. “Well, two to get dressed. Three to wake up Jess all the way and get Danny off the floor.”

Jessica glares. “Murdock, you come anywhere near me with so much as a drop of ice water and I’ll punch you so hard you’ll see.”

Sighing, Claire gives Juliet an apologetic glance. “We’ll be ready in five.”

~`~`~`~`~`~

Luke listens attentively to Sheriff Lassiter’s description of the situation: the attack, the failure to trace the knight’s origin, the call from the Prosperity PD. He’s just about to explain what exactly he needs from the six of them when the roar of a motorcycle engine cuts him off. Moments later, the door bangs open as Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster enter. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Spencer apologizes flippantly, much too energetic for not even seven in the morning. “Gus yelled at me for like eight minutes when I tried to pull him out of bed. Could you, like, start over?”

Lassiter and O’Hara exchange looks. “He is already a part of this case,” she points out. 

Lassiter huffs and turns to pour another mug of coffee. “You’re filling him in.”

Juliet nods. “Alright. So, just after two am, I woke up to find a man I can only assume was serving The Hand on top of me with a knife to my throat- “

“What?!?” 

“I was attacked, Shawn. I don’t know who he is or why he went after me or where he came from. It hasn’t really been helpful to the case at all. At any rate- “

“Jules, I’m not worried about the case, I’m worried about you. That man obviously came to kill you. You could’ve died.” 

Luke watches the silent exchange between the deputy and the grifter, how O’Hara frowns slightly, looking almost confused and Spencer stares at her intensely, some mixture of emotions written over his face. He doesn’t need the body language lessons from his days on the force to tell him that Spencer cares a lot about the blonde. He sighs quietly and shakes his head, which earns a snort from Jessica, who has clearly reached the same conclusion as him. The difference? As always, Jessica lacks both empathy and tact.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re super concerned ‘cause you’re crushing on her and you wanna protect her or whatever, can we move on to what the hell you all need from us?”

Luke sighs deeply as O’Hara turns bright red and Spencer looks away quickly. “Jones.”

“What? I’m just trying to be efficient.”

Lassiter finally loses patience. “Deputy Knight of the Prosperity PD says you are all missing persons and persons of interest in, I quote, ‘the deadliest case she’s seen”. I don’t know much about you at all, except that you showed up, and then weird shit started happening. You showed up, and then somebody got killed. You showed up, and then someone tried to kill a person I care about. I’d really appreciate it if you’d talk less about ninjas intent on achieving immortality and more about who the hell you actually are!” He finishes, breathing unsteadily as he glares around the room.

Luke sighs. He doesn’t say anything. The room is heavy with silence and stress that the pale morning sun has no hope of dispelling. This is exactly what he was running from when he left New York. As he drops his head into his hands, he hears Claire’s voice.

“We’re all trying to do the same thing. I want to help, we all want to help,” she begins, trying to calm the atmosphere.

“Well you’re not being very helpful,” snarls the Sheriff, slamming his hands onto the table. Beside Luke, Matt grips the chair tightly, everything about his body language saying he’s ready for a fight. Looking around the room, the rest of his friends are in similar positions.

“Carlton!” Interjects O’Hara. They have done nothing wrong. None of this is their fault. You want someone to blame but that someone is not them.”

Danny tries next. “We’ve already told you that The Hand is an organization that dates back for millennia in their quest for immortality. There’s another side to the fight, though.” He takes a deep breath, expression thoughtful. Remembering his own reaction, the first time Danny had attempted to explain the mystical K’un Lun, Luke hopes the younger man has come up with a new explanation that sounds less insane. Danny continues bravely on. “The Iron Fist is a… a protector of the monks of K’un Lun. The warrior is trained to… focus his chi, and with practice, he can summon the glowing energy that gives him his name. The Chaste are… were… the army of the Iron Fist. They serve him, but less for the purpose of protecting K’un Lun and more for defeating The Hand. See, the five fingers, uh, leaders of The Hand used to study at K’un Lun. But they got the idea that the teachings there could be misused to conquer death. So, after they broke off and founded The Hand, The Chaste was formed to oppose them.” Danny finishes with a sigh. Looking around the room, Luke winces at the expressions of the New Sonora police, who look like they’re going to cart Danny off to either a jail or an asylum. 

“I know it sounds crazy,” says Matt, “but I’ve had firsthand experience with the Hand. Deputy O’Hara has too, now. Danny can prove it.”

Claire straightens suddenly. “No, no, no. Bad idea.”

Danny’s already tugging Luke out of his chair, as much as it’s possible to tug him anywhere. “I think she means GREAT idea! C’mon, Luke, lets do it outside so we don’t wreck the place.”

“Do what?” demands Lassiter, who’s face has been one of incredulity and anger from about the first time Danny pronounced ‘K’un Lun’”. 

“I swear we’re not crazy. Come on!” Danny calls again, dashing out the door. Luke has no choice but to follow. Well, he technically could stand still and there would be next to nothing anyone could do about it, but that wouldn’t help the situation at all, and the last time he’d tried to stubborn his way out of a stupid idea, Jessica had lifted him into a fireman’s carry. He’s not eager to recreate that experience.

~`~`~`~`~

Eventually, Danny and Luke are facing each other in an empty area behind the police station. The rest of the group is on a wide circle, everyone looking vaguely apprehensive. O’Hara and Lassiter are both ready to draw their weapons, though O’Hara at least is being subtle about it. She’s got her hands clutching the edges of her unzipped leather jacket in a way that she could easily grab the pistol at her hip, whereas her partner already has his hand wrapped around the grip of the gun. Spencer seems as laid back and at ease as ever, but Guster is clearly confused and on the verge of terror. Luke sighs. “Rand, let’s get this over with.”

Danny grins, his blue eyes flashing open as he leaves his meditative trance. “If you insist.” He doesn’t even bother to ask Luke if he’s ready before summoning the glowing Chi energy around his hand. Lightning fast, he drives the Fist into the larger man’s solar plexus. Both parties fly backwards, and the shockwave is vividly evident, due to the dusty nature of their surroundings. There’s a round of curses and coughing from the assembled company, and as Danny recovers enough to look around, he sees that both cops have drawn their guns. He probably could’ve foreseen that.

“What the actual _Hell_ ,” demands Lassiter, rising from his defensive crouch, gun still clutched tightly in his hand.

“To be fair, that’s exactly what he said would happen,” counters O’Hara, brushing dust from her jeans. “Meditation, glowing Fist, all that.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t mention the god damned _shockwave_ ,” growls the sheriff.

Danny finally stands. “Oh, that part only happens if I hit Luke. Anybody else, their ribs would have shattered and they would’ve been thrown way farther back. No shockwave, and I would’ve been fine. It’s just because Luke’s… well, because he’s bulletproof. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that. The physics of it is actually pretty simple- “  
Deputy O’Hara cuts him off. “Hang on. This is the second time today one of you has referred to Mr. Cage as ‘bulletproof’. What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Shoot him,” responds Jessica, deadpan, her expression serious. Lassiter’s hand goes to his gun.

“Hang on a second!” exclaims O’Hara, giving her partner a look. “What do you mean, shoot him?”

“Take that pistol and fire it at him. You’ll see,” insists the antisocial woman.

Danny watches the group devolve into chaos as Claire steps forward, glaring between Jessica and himself. “There have got to be some less dangerous ways to prove the points you are trying to make,” she complains in exasperation.

“Yeah, well they all take too many words for seven thirty in the god damned morning. Can I just lift some things above my head and get this over with?” Jessica argues. “Y’know what, Murdock, Rand, get over here- “

Danny starts to shake his head and Matt frowns, clutching the leather grip of his cane. “Jess, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Danny starts carefully.

Jessica is pissed off now and yelling, shaking off Colleen’s hand on her arm and pushing past Claire to stand entirely too close to Danny, arms folded across her chest.

“Of course it’s a horrible fucking idea, this whole ‘save the world’ sham has been nightmare after nightmare, we all came out here to live quietly and for me at least, this is almost as bad as before,”

Three shots go off in rapid succession. It seems Lassiter has tired of mysterious half-explanations and conversations that make no sense. Maybe watching Danny show his powers had triggered a suspension of disbelief in the Sheriff, or maybe he was just fine with shooting Luke whether he was bulletproof or not, but the older man had finally done as Jessica had encouraged and sure enough, the bullets had bounced right off. Danny turns slowly, regulating his breath unconsciously as he faces Lassiter. “Do you believe us now?”

“The rest of you,” Lassiter growls. “What else can you do?”

“That depends. Are you going to turn us in, or sell us to a circus, or what? I understand you need more information to trust us, but trust goes both ways,” Colleen cautions. Danny feels her hand brush against his and is grateful for the small but reassuring contact. 

“You’re not criminals. Obviously, we’ll have to work out some sort of deal with the Prosperity department, but we can work together on that. You can trust us,” Juliet assures them.

Danny is nodding slowly as Jessica walks over to Luke. “Cage, you’re like, three hundred pounds?”

“Four hundred,” Luke corrects. Danny might gape a little at that number, but so does everyone else, so.

“Alrighty then,” says Jess. Without further ado, she lifts him above her head. One-handed. Gus gasps. Spencer gapes. Lassiter curses quietly. O’Hara makes a small noise of shock. “Murdock, this just leaves you.”

Matt sighs and drops his cane, moving into a fighting stance. “Hit me.”

“No!” Claire yells, “Why is this the solution to everything?!?!” Before she can intervene, Jessica throws a punch that would have broken Matt’s nose, had he not ducked. What follows is a brutal, five-minute fight that ends with both Matt and Jessica panting and pressing hands to bruises. “ _Jesus_ ,” mutters Claire, moving to brush blood from Matt’s split lip and then aid Jessica in examining her injured wrist.

“Don’t blaspheme,” mutters Matt. Claire snorts and mutters something in Spanish about _el niño diablo_. “And before the rest of you ask, I am blind. My other senses are just… hypersensitive. Sheriff Lassiter, I can hear your rapid, irregular heartbeat; you’re on edge, which is understandable. Claire, I can smell the antiseptic soap you use because you don’t trust the cleanliness of the hotel. The air tastes like dust and horses and motor oil, but it’s better than the city. Jessica, I would honestly go insane if the clothes I wore were half as rough as yours.” She scowls at him. Finally, Lassiter begins to nod.

“Alright. First cults, now superheroes. Okay. We can deal with this.” His eyes close as he inhales deeply, then turns to his partner. “Ready to save the world, O’Hara?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and kudos are so appreciated. Also, if anyone with artistic talent reads this and gets inspired, I'd love to see art (anything of this would be spectacular) but especially that last lil exchange between Lassie and Jules. Until next time!


End file.
